


Mama sends her best

by zhem1x5



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhem1x5/pseuds/zhem1x5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lie is easier, expected, because DADT means you can't ever tell the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mama sends her best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [though](https://archiveofourown.org/users/though/gifts), [furiedheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart/gifts), [curds_and_wheyface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/gifts), [townpariah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/townpariah/gifts), [hanyou_elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/gifts).



> This is based in my knowledge of American military practices, my brother's two tours weren't for nothing after all, and is hopefully the beginning of a series. I do have the next part written out, but I'm hoping actually posting something will get me out of this writing slump.
> 
>  
> 
> For though, who got me into the fandom in the first place. Seriously, Bromance is too everything for words. For furiedheart, curds_and_wheyface, and rangerdanger who made me love being here. Omfg your stories... And especially for hanyou, she puts up with my random trips into fandoms she's iffy on and never tells me to stop.
> 
>  
> 
> Title taken from John Michael Montgomery's Letters from Home because the bro's been safe and sound for 4 years now and it still makes me cry to think about.

"Hemsworth!"

 

"Here," Chris answered, a shade too heartily judging by the side glances he received as he stepped forward to get his letters.

 

"Got a sweetheart back home, Hems," Guthrie asked, quirking his eyebrows in a way he thought made him look curious and friendly but really just made him look like one of those creepy pervs you saw on post office 'WANTED' posters. Someday, Chris wanted to be the one to tell him that.

 

"Nah," Chris answered, grinning a little too much but unable to hide it.

 

"Must be," Weems cut in, opening his own letter with a smug look. "Writing every day, phone calls every Sunday. Must love your cock, man."

 

Guthrie had the good grace not to laugh too hard when Chris promptly blushed, his embarrassingly vehement denials leaving an acidic taste on his tongue. But he couldn't tell them the truth, not now, maybe not ever, and it killed him every time he lied about it.

 

'Don't Ask, Don't Tell.'

 

What it really meant was don't tell, no matter how many times you were asked, no matter what you had to imply or let them infer. Never tell the truth.

 

"It's my mom, ya know, can't help making sure everything's ok," Chris hedged, grinning suddenly. "She says I better not pick up any of you lot's disgusting habits."

 

Guthrie laughed, like he had no idea what Chris might be talking about, but Weems just gave him an acknowledging nod. There was no getting around how disappointed any of their moms would be to hear the dirty words that dripped off their tongues in even the most sedate conversations.

 

"All those letters and phone calls," Guthrie couldn't seem to help prodding, making Chris wonder if there was going to be a problem he'd get court martialed for solving.

 

"Course not," Chris answered, his tone easy even though he couldn't help tensing, the envelopes crinkling in his hands. "My brothers and all that."

 

That seemed to settle it, Weems distracted by pictures of his new baby--a girl they'd named Angela after his grandmother-- and Guthrie munching on those weird ginger maple cookies his mom always sent him--he got to keep that strange conglomeration all to himself, the smug bastard. Chris'd had to tell his mom to stop sending homemade treats, much as he didn't mind sharing with his new brothers, it would be nice to get to eat more than one cookie or brownie before the tin was emptied.

 

But this one wasn't from his mom, very few of them were though he wouldn't be telling the guys that. This one was from Tom.

 

Tom, who wrote to him every day--long letters, short letters, little thoughts he couldn't wait to share, song lyrics that made him miss Chris even though he promised he didn't cry over him (he swore it was bad luck and Chris couldn't help agreeing), little moments of his life that he didn't want Chris missing out on.

 

Things Chris was glad to answer in kind, telling Tom about training; about the absolute horror of Williams' foot odor, something the man himself seemed to be oblivious to; everything about his day that he thought Tom might like to hear. And at the end of each letter, how much he loved and missed him and couldn't wait to come home to him.

 

They spent their Sunday phone calls whispering carefully, saying _I love you_ over and over, sharing in the joy of hearing each other's voices if only for five minutes once a week, promising again to write every day.

 

"That your little brother," Guthrie asked, leaning over the end of Chris' bunk where a new photo of Tom had fallen out of the open envelope.

It took everything Chris had not to grab it back and cover it up, to not try and hide Tom's bright blue eyes and messy blond curls from prying eyes. He forced another grin, ignoring the irritation of a stranger seeing Tom before he could, and reached out to accept the photo calmly. "That one's Tom," he said, as if he was only one of his brothers. "And he's older actually."

**Author's Note:**

> The next part will make you a little happier with me. Tom's actually in it. Go figure.


End file.
